


One, No One and A Hundred Thousand

by SMITSJUSTAJAYREALLY



Series: Good Omens Multi-verse [1]
Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Burning Bookshop, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Good Omens multiverse, Hellfire, Holy Water, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMITSJUSTAJAYREALLY/pseuds/SMITSJUSTAJAYREALLY
Summary: It’s 1990, less than a year since the apocalypse that wasn’t. Things seem great between Aziraphale and Crowley. They’ve confessed their feelings and are safe from Heaven and Hell. Then Aziraphale finds a book, that changes how they view the world.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Multi-verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136546
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36





	One, No One and A Hundred Thousand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BGHoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BGHoman/gifts), [marsch00](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsch00/gifts).



> **If my story looks familiar it’s because it probably is. I had a different AO3 account when I started writing. It got deleted for personal reasons and this new one started. All the fics from the old account got moved to here** ❤️💜💙🧡💚💛 
> 
> The title shares the title with a book by Luigi Pirandello, which tells of how there are multiple versions of who we are, based on who is speaking of us.
> 
> I wrote this for Marsch00, BGHoman and the Good Omens fansite, Soho 51’s Good Omens celebration for the anniversary month of May.
> 
> And I want to dedicate it to the fandom as a whole. Thank you for giving me a family and a place that I belong❤️❤️💚💚

**Soho, London, June 1990**

"Angel!" Crowley bursts through the entrance of the bookshop. Slamming the door hurriedly behind him, the force causing the closed sign to bounce against the glass.

Aziraphale had called sounding distraught and almost broken. The trip from his flat to Soho would have taken a human nearly seven minutes. Crowley made it in less than sixty seconds.

He walks carefully, yet quickly through the sunlit building. Crowley can sense no other presence aside from Aziraphale, but that doesn't mean someone hasn't come and gone. His heart in his throat, he can feel the amount of distress radiating from the angel and it's nearly suffocating.

"Aziraphale, please, answer me." Without pausing, the demon follows the pull of his angel's light. He finds him in the back room (their room) sitting at his antique writing desk, staring with intent at a small, thick paperback book.

"Aziraphale?" He says quietly, in hopes of not startling the angel.

It doesn't work.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale jumps, quickly closing the book. "My dear, I didn't hear you come in."

"You didn't hear me come in?” Crowley rubs his left hand down his mouth and chin, removing his sunglasses with his right and tucking them in his breast pocket. "Angel, I came charging in like a bull in a china shop." _Like the gallant hero from one of your novels_. "Surprised God Themselves didn't hear me."

"Something terrible has happened." Aziraphale fidgets with the book under his palm.

Crowley moves cautiously towards him, wanting to comfort, to protect. "What happened? Did someone hurt you, threaten you?" He crouches beside Aziraphale's chair. "Tell me who did it, I'll rip their throat out."

"They wrote a book." Aziraphale holds up the white paperback with red lettering, an illustration of a well dressed bloke, holding a glass of wine on the cover. _Does he have a tail?_

"I see." Crowley's panic and rage converts into relief and mild irritation. He stares at Aziraphale for a full minute waiting for more information. When he realizes it's not going to be given without prompting he asks. "What's the book? And what makes it so much more important than all the other piles of paper you're hoarding?"

" **Good Omens. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch**. Aziraphale reads the title aloud before setting the book aside, propping his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his palms.

"So. Someone wrote a book on the crazy old bat's prophecies." Crowley shrugs, rising from the floor and sprawling his body across the well worn sofa. "Who was it? Book girl? She's to get married soon. Needed the money?"

Aziraphale finally looks up at him, his round face drawn, lines creasing at the corners of and below his eyes. Crowley has never seen the angel look so tired.

_Could be, he never sleeps. Would do him some good if he did._

"No. Anathema's family is wealthy." Aziraphale sighs. "I bought you a copy too."

He reaches to the right of the book he'd been reading, retrieving another paperback. This one black background and gold lettering. An illustration of an angel, halo above his head, wearing a bow tie, and lounging with a book in his lap. "It was published with the choice of two covers. I purchased this one for you."

The angel places the book in Crowley's hand, before settling himself on the cushion next to the demon. Crowley studies the cover, confused. _It looks like......but no, it couldn't be._

"Read the first few pages." Aziraphale taps the book with his index finger. "You'll begin to understand."

Crowley eyes him warily and opens the book. Aziraphale watches as his mouth goes slack and his eyes widen. "How much do they get right?" He takes the angel's hand. "I mean, the conversation isn't verbatim, but it's very close."

"Most of what they wrote is accurate. It covers all through Armageddon, and part of our conversation in St James Park." Serpentine eyes turn to look at the angel in panic. Aziraphale drops his voice to a whisper. "No mentions of our trials or body swap."

"So nothing that can lead to our immediate deaths." Crowley considers. "But enough to cause questions from humans we meet, and who see your shop."

"Yes, but that can be controlled with a few miracles, when the need calls." Aziraphale places his free hand on Crowley's knee, delighting at the way the demon shivers.

Crowley distracts himself from the touch, by looking over the book's cover. "How do these two know about us? They _are_ human, aren’t they?"

"As far as I can decipher, they most definitely are human. Both have written other books, many that are quite popular." Aziraphale shakes his head, bringing his hand from Crowley's lap, back to his own. "This appears to be their first joint endevour. How they know about us, I've not the slightest."

Aziraphale pulls his legs onto the sofa, laying his head against the demon's shoulder. "They also left out a great deal of our history and the growth of our relationship. There is mention of us holding hands at the airbase, and my involvement in the Hundred Guinea Club, although the establishment's name is excluded. Minute allusions to a strong relationship of sorts, but nothing confirming the depth of the bond."

"Just enough to make some consider the idea." Crowley leans his head against the angel's soft hair.

“It also makes mention of our raising and tutoring of Warlock, using our chosen aliases, without directly saying it was us.“ Aziraphale runs his fingers across the fabric of Crowley’s shirt.

“You think the authors messed it around on purpose, or they were given inaccurate information?” Crowley releases his hand from the angel’s to turn the book’s page. “They’re calling God a He. God has no gender.”

“Yes, I assume they thought the Christians would find that more palatable.” Aziraphale positions himself upright. “Beelzebub is also listed as a he, and they made Pepper a redhead. But I think they were attempting to have each of the Them line up with a Horse Person.” Aziraphale purses his lips. “And hilariously, there had been four Hell’s Angels that had followed them for a bit.“

“Why would Hell’s Angels follow children?” Crowley jerks his head back, brow furrowing. “That’s not safe.”

Aziraphale laughs, and it’s so good to feel something other than worry. Crowley always could make tough situations lighter, whether he meant to or not.

“No, you ridiculous snake.” He pats the demon’s arm. “The Hell’s Angels followed the Horse People. They made it as far as the M25 ring of Fire.”

“That makes sense.” Crowley smirks then turns back to the book.

They sit quietly, side by side, for some time as Crowley reads. After a half hour Aziraphale stands, deciding to walk among and re-organize his books, as he waits for Crowley to finish his copy. He loses track of time, moving amongst the priceless tomes. Periodically he takes one down, reading a bit, then sliding it into its new proper place.

“Angel.” Crowley eventually calls for him. When Aziraphale looks up, the sky outside has grown dark.

Straightening his waistcoat, the angel returns to the back room and his demon. “Yes love?”

“Do you think we’re still safe?” Crowley has finished the book. He looks up from his place on the sofa, sliding long fingers through his auburn hair.

“After a lot of consideration, I do, dear.” Aziraphale returns to the cushion beside the demon. “Nothing was revealed which could lead to our demise.”

Crowley takes a deep breath. Leaning forward he sets the book on the wooden coffee table, before sitting up and locking eyes with Aziraphale. “Would I look better with black hair?”

The angel loses himself in a fit of laughter, struck by the utter ludicrousness of the question. Crowley watches, a gentle smile ghosting his lips.

When Aziraphale has regained enough control to answer, he places his hands on each side of Crowley’s face. “You’re perfect just as you are, love.”

* * *

**Mayfair, December 27,2014**

“It’s nearly started, Angel. Are you coming?” Crowley paces, full of nervous energy, yellow eyes are uncovered and wide. The humans have made a radio drama of that blasted book, which has aired over five nights. Tonight is the final installment and, as uncharacteristically as it is for demons to do so, Crowley hopes it, like the book, will not give them away.

“Yes, yes!” Aziraphale scurries into the lounge, carrying a tray of biscuits, a cup of Earl Grey, and a bottle of whiskey. “I’m ready.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, then moves to Crowley, placing his hands on each of the demon’s shoulders. “It will be okay, I promise.“

Crowley dips his head, kissing Aziraphale, wrapping slender arms around his robust waist. The kiss is hard, but not bruising, fueled by an intense need to protect, to love. Pulling apart the demon rests his lips in golden hair. “I can’t lose you.”

“Nor I you.” Aziraphale tilts his head, placing a reassuring kiss to an angular chin. “This is going to be fine. We’ve enjoyed it so far. I’m sure this ending will be as innocuous as that of the book.”

Crowley allows himself to be led to the sofa, as the broadcast begins. “I do enjoy being performed by Peter Serafinowicz. His voice drips sex.”

“Yes, well, lucky you. “Aziraphale hands Crowley the bottle of Talisker. “Mark Heap plays me a bit snooty. Much too fussy.”

“You’re kidding me?” Crowley leans into the cushions throwing his arm over the back of the sofa. The demon’s smile is wide, revealing perfect white teeth. “You’re about as prim and fussy as a being can get. Absolutely prissy sometimes.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale huffs, quite fussily. “Just because your afraid, doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me.”

“Oi! M’not afraid!” Crowley swigs the dark beverage. He is afraid, very afraid. He has too much to lose.

Placing the bottle on the table he wraps his arms around Aziraphale. Face against the angel’s temple, he whispers. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I was only trying to tease.”

“Accepted.” With a sigh the angel allows himself to be pulled against Crowley’s chest. “Now, let’s listen, shall we?”

An hour later, they find themselves laying across the hard sofa. The angel’s back to the demon’s chest, fingers laced together over Aziraphale’s stomach.

“See my darling, nothing damning revealed.” Aziraphale lifts Crowley’s hand to his mouth, placing soft kisses to hard knuckles.

“You know the fans of the book are writing fan fiction about us?” Crowley whispers against the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “Posting the stories on websites dedicated to that stuff.”

“You’re kidding?” Aziraphale pushes his body closer to Crowley’s.

“Nope.” The demon’s lips move to Aziraphale’s ear. “Some say we’re best friends.” He pauses for effect. “Others have deemed us the Ineffable Husbands.”

“Well, none of them are wrong.” Aziraphale smiles, rolling over to face the being he loves. “We are both.”

“That we are, love. That we are.” Crowley wraps the Angel in his arms.

* * *

**Soho, May 31, 2019**

“They got my hair right!” Crowley sits criss-cross on the edge of Aziraphale’s bed, facing the flatscreen he’d recently mounted on the wall. “Heaven, Angel, they got almost everything right.”

“I do appreciate them making God a woman this time.” Aziraphale leans back against the headboard. “If he doesn’t know to cast Them as genderless, at least he is willing to equally represent.”

“How’d they make Aro and the Doctor look more like us than themselves?” Crowley’s words are light, but his body is tense. “The dialogue is practically word for word here.”

“Aro and the Doctor?” Aziraphale asks the back of his best friend’s head.

Crowley nods.

“Who?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not following, dear.”

Crowley rolls his eyes, realizing Aziraphale wasn’t agreeing with him, but rather lost. He moves up the bed to sit by the blond. “David Tennant and Michael Sheen.”

“Oh! Miles and Ginger!” Aziraphale exclaims.

“Yes, Angel, Miles and Ginger. Completely forgot about that one.” He’s not sure how. Aziraphale loves the film _and_ the book.

“Isn’t it exciting, that they would be playing us.” He smiles, taking Crowley’s hand. “Oh, there you are, being handed the anti-Christ.”

“Yay.” Crowley sneers. “I was scheduled to join you for dinner.”

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale pats the demon’s arm with his free hand. “When you canceled, I went for sushi. I know how you detest raw fish.”

“I never eat anyway.” Crowleys forehead crinkles. “Why should I care what you eat when we’re out?”

“It’s the principle of the matter, dear.” Aziraphale wiggles, as if he feels he’s just won an argument.

Crowley leans his head back and sighs. The image on the screen changes from the demon and his Bentley, to a tray of sushi.

Suddenly Aziraphale’s body tenses and his grip on the demon’s hand tightens.

“Angel?” Crowley turns to face his partner, who looks like he may be sick.

“This wasn’t in the book or broadcast.” His Adams apple bobs in his throat, as the angel struggles to swallow. “The Archangels didn’t make appearances in the prior tellings.”

“Yeah, well it’s the first time they left out my rats, and police chase.“ Crowley still doesn’t understand what has Aziraphale so frightened. “Maybe they’ll get the airbase bit correct this round. Always thought it was weird they swapped Gabriel for the Metatron.”

“Well I preferred it.” Aziraphale looks away from ‘God’ explaining the other babies coming into play. “The less accurate, the safer we are darling.”

It begins to dawn on Crowley how precariously they are perched on a metaphorical ledge. “Because if the surviving fellow knows more than he previously revealed.” His throat feels dry, Crowley would very much like a drink. “Then he may show the world....”

His voice trails off. Without realizing, Crowley moves his body closer to Aziraphale’s, instinctively wanting to protect.

“Not just the world, Crowley.” The angel’s eyes grow large, the colors swirling together.

_He’s so beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful._

“We’ll be fine.” Crowley snakes his free arm around Aziraphale’s waist. “There is no way the human could know about that.”

They had reasoned that everything written or shown so far, could’ve been told by the humans they’d befriended during Armageddon. And the one they had met and used his services, but both of them grew to despise.

Shadwell had been an unpleasant man, a bit of a bigot and a racist. Both angel and demon didn’t care for his type.

However, none of the humans had been told of the body swap, so there is no conceivable way that information could’ve gotten out.

Episode one ends and two begins. Crowley laughs hearing ‘Gabriel’ excitedly exclaim “pornography!”

“Did he really say that?” Tension leaves the demon’s body as the Principality beside him giggles.

“He did. He’s an idiot.” Aziraphale smiles beautifully, and Crowley can not think of a more gorgeous sight. “Uriel and Michael are the only intelligent ones. Unfortunately all of them are as equally cruel.”

“None of the lot are as good as you Aziraphale.” Crowley slides his thumb across the angel’s knuckles. “None as clever either.”

“Oh, I know, my darling.” Aziraphale side-eyes him coyly. “I’m quite the catch.”

Crowley hums agreement, soaking in the warmth of the body against his. On the flat screen they watch as ‘Crowley’ picks up the phone, then returns it to the cradle, grimacing.

“Who were you calling?” Aziraphale looks at him perplexed.

“You.” Crowley has always been needy. He’s terrified of the day that neediness will drive Aziraphale away.

“But you had just left my shop.” Aziraphale remembers how frightened he’d been when the Gabriel and Sandalphon had arrived. How he’d quickly shooed Crowley out the back entrance, hoping he wouldn’t be seen.

“You think I wasn’t worried?” Oh how he had been. “I fretted that whole time. Thinking maybe they’d caught us, and I’d left you to face them alone.”

Aziraphale smiles sympathetically. “My hero” He places a light kiss to Crowley’s lips. “Always my protector.”

“Love you.” Crowley explains, pulling the angel close, Aziraphale’s head resting against the demon’s chest.

They watch as the story of Agnes is told, and the introductions of Anathema, Newt, Shadwell and Tracy.

Aziraphale kisses the real Crowley again, when tv ‘Crowley’ blows the paint away from his jacket.

“Always too good to me.” He murmurs.

“Never.” The demon hugs him closer. “Shhhh, lets watch.”

After a while Crowley breaks the silence, when ‘Anathema’ is propelled over the hood of the ‘Bentley’. “You know, that was your fault.”

“How is your terrible driving my fault?” A bowl of popcorn miraculously appears in Aziraphale’s lap. He offers the contents to his demon.

Crowley waves a hand in dismissal. “I’m a fantastic driver. When else have I ever had an accident?”

Aziraphale delicately puts a kernel in his mouth, pausing a moment to think. “That is the only time.” He says incredulously. “What was it I did?”

“All that talk about love.” Crowley looks up at the angel with. Well. What would the snake version of puppy dog eyes be? Whatever it is, he looks at him like that.

“Every time I tried to get closer to you back then,” Crowley swooshes his hand in a circle, “to show you how I felt, really felt, you’d push me away.” He drops his eyes to his lap and mumbles. “I was afraid you were sensing me and would make me leave for something I couldn’t control. In my fear I didn’t notice her.”

“I’m so sorry. I always kept you on that knife’s edge.” Aziraphale leans to his left, sliding his fingers across Crowley’s tattoo.

“S’alright.” Crowley sniffs. Wanting to change the topic. “Fake Newt and Anathema are a lot better looking than the real deal.” He points to the screen. “The book describes them better.”

Aziraphale feels a wave of relief at the detail. The similarities had been becoming frighteningly accurate. It was nice to see something a bit off. “Yes. No offense to the Pulsifer’s, but they are rather plain.”

“Not everyone can be as beautiful as you, Angel.” Crowley knows he’s laying it on thick, but they both need the distraction. Every time they go through this it’s terrifying. More so than either is willing to admit.

He knows it’s working, when Aziraphale blushes ever so prettily.

They come to the end of episode two, and Aziraphale’s hiding the knowledge of the anti-Christ’s identity.

Crowley unwinds his arm from the angel. “Still hurts you didn’t trust me.“

“I was frightened.“ The blond places his popcorn on the side table and pauses the show. “I loved you so much, but I was afraid of what would happen if I defected. What would happen to you.“

Making sure not to invade Crowley’s space, Aziraphale dips his head to look into golden eyes. “Heaven doesn’t take well to traitors. I knew, a very likely possibility to be, they’d blame you for tempting me and then personally destroy you. The thought of my own destruction wasn’t nearly as frightening as the thought of losing you.”

“So it wasn’t that you didn’t trust me?” Crowley’s face is hopeful.

“No matter what silliness came out of my mouth.” Aziraphale cups his hand to Crowley’s jaw. “I have wholeheartedly trusted you with my safety, and my heart, since 1020 A.D.”

Realization dawns across Crowley’s face. “The Arrangement.”

The angel nods. “It held within it an unspoken vow.” He tentatively reaches for the demon’s hand again, and is relieved when Crowley accepts him. “That, although, I could not dare speak my love aloud, I was yours.”

“And I was yours way before that.” Crowley kisses the angel’s nose. “Let’s start episode three, shall we?”

Twenty-eight minutes later they stare in stunned silence.

“This is too accurate.” Aziraphale frets with his free hand, picking at the duvet, his buttons, his and Crowley’s nails.

“I understand.” Crowley whispers, as the angel on the screen practices his speech to Gabriel. “I was so angry thinking you distrusted me all those years with the holy water. That you honestly had better things to do than deal with me. But you thought you were protecting me.”

“I did.” The angel nods.

Aziraphale attempts to hide how upset he feels for Crowley’s sake, but this rendition of their lives is painful to watch.

It was heartbreaking reading and listening to how he kept his demon at bay. But watching it play out, by two human men who are made up in away to look so much like them...... The full realization of his cruelties to Crowley, are almost too much to bear.

Several minute later, the night at the bandstand replays before his eyes. The regrets at the pain he’d created and the thought of what he nearly thrown away, cause Aziraphale to break. The angel turns his face to Crowley’s neck and begins to cry.

Crowley notices the dampness on his shirt, and hears the angel’s sobs. “No, no, no, no. Aziraphale, Angel it’s okay.” With his free hand he gently wipes the tears from his angel’s face. “You were frightened. You didn’t mean it. I know that now.”

_Why are you so forgiving of me? Why are you so good? I don’t deserve it. I want to tell you that you’re good. Why won’t you let me say it? You are, my darling, you are._ Aziraphale thinks but avoids voicing the words.

Even now, Crowley objects to being complimented in certain ways. He says it’s to keep up his reputation. Aziraphale suspects his demon is still so broken inside, that the compliments hurt.

The angel only nods, squeezing his love’s hand. There are two words Crowley will except from him now, so Aziraphale uses them. “Thank you.”

Throughout the remainder of the afternoon, each faces his ghosts, memories of himself he’d pushed aside. Forgotten in the decades of love and devotion they’ve shared since.

The Armageddon that wasn’t had actually happened the summer of 89, less than a year prior to the book’s release. How the two authors had known the end of that story, before the events themselves had fully unfolded, was mind-boggling.

Aziraphale and Crowley had confessed their feelings on the bus from Tadfield. The fully realized love affair was so new, so rocky when the book had released, but they were strong together. Strong for and because of one another.

Now, after almost a millennia together, and 30 years in full acceptance of their love, not even God Themself could topple what the angel and demon have built.

They watch Aziraphale deny Crowley’s request run away together a second time.

The angel gasps as Hastur and Ligur close in on his demon and Crowley holds the holy water in his hands.

Crowley tenses for a fight when Sandalphon punches Aziraphale in the stomach, and at the realization it had been that horrid Shadwell who had discorporated his soulmate and best friend and set the bookshop ablaze.

Crowley brings his arm around Aziraphale’s waist once again, pulling him close, as ‘Crowley’ runs into the burning shop. He buries his face in platinum hair and whispers “I love you.” When the spirit of ‘Aziraphale’ appears to ‘Crowley‘ in the pub.

The weather outside has turned to rain at some point in their bingeing. Setting a mood similar to that on the screen.

They share a laugh at the scene of Aziraphale inhabiting ‘Madame Tracy’s’ body.

“Marjorie wasn’t as pretty as Miranda Richardson either.” Aziraphale leans into Crowley’s affectionate touch. “But she was always so sweet. Why she kept with that horrible man for the rest of her days, is a mystery I shall never comprehend.”

“Don’t have a reasonable answer for that Angel.” Crowley concedes. “I’ve wondered the same myself.”

Aziraphale places his own arm around the demon, watching in awe as ‘Crowley’ drives across the M25 fire without discorporating. “You’re truly a wonder, dearest.”

‘They’ face the American soldier, ‘Crowley’ arrives in the Bentley, ‘Adam’ opens the gates and calls out the Horse People.

Then episode six begins, and Aziraphale feels as if the ground has opened beneath him. Shaking his head violently. “NO, no, no, no, no, NO!”

His voice rising in pitch and volume at each word. Watching in horror as ‘he’ stands before the Lord of Flies, Files, and a Duke of Hell. ‘He’ cheekily asks “What appears to be the problem?”

“Fast forward!” Aziraphale practically screams at the demon who is staring in stunned silence. “We know all of this. We were there and it’s been replayed for us twice over. If they’re showing the trials, we need to know how much is shown!”

Crowley snatches the remote from atop the duvet and presses the forward button. Aziraphale catches the image of Gabriel at the airbase rather than the Metatron, and his throat constricts. _All too accurate, all too real._

Without Crowley’s permission, the show restarts at the bus stop scene.

_You can stay at my place......if you like._

_I don’t think my side would like that._

_You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We’re on our own side._

“I’m not doing this. This isn’t me.” Crowley scrambles off the bed, pulling Aziraphale with him. “Hell knows! We need to go!”

“Where?” Aziraphale crashes into Crowley’s back when the demon pauses to fling open the bedroom door. Thick smoke wafts up the stairs from the shop below.

“Hello traitor.” The flatscreen skips to ‘Crowley as Aziraphale’ stepping into Hellfire. But the dialogue is missing and has been replaced with Lord Beelzebub’s voice. “Letzzzz zzeee if he burnzzzzzz thizzzz time.”

Aziraphale slams the door, racing around the bed to the window. Pulling open the shutter, the rain blows in drenching his right arm. The angel throws his left arm out behind him. “Stop!”

Slamming the window closed, Aziraphale removes his shirtsleeves and tosses them over the puddle on the floor. Now in only his vest and trousers, he pushes Crowley away from the offending clothing and window.

“Ngk. Wha?” Crowley stammers as he’s pushed back toward the bed.

“My sleeve got wet.” Aziraphale explains, which doesn’t help Crowley understand at all.

“Holy water.” Gabriel’s condescending tone wafts out of the box’s speakers. The screen shows an ‘angel and a demon’ on a park bench, clasping hands as their bodies slide into the other’s place.

“It’s only raining over the bookshop.” The screen transitions to reveal a pompous smile and violet eyes. “The humans won’t even notice. It’s Michael’s doing. Isn’t she brilliant?”

“Go, Angel.” Crowley points to the window.

The angel shakes his head. “I won’t leave you to die.”

“Hellfire won’t hurt me, love.” He rubs his hands soothingly up and down his angel’s arms.

“But once the bookshop burns, there will be no barrier between you and the rain!” Aziraphale’s voice is pitchy, he clings to the front of Crowley’s shirt.”

_Shit. Was hoping you wouldn’t think of that._

“There’s no sense in both of us dying.” Crowley begs. “Please, Angel, you have an out. Take it.”

Aziraphale bites his lip, tears accumulating in his expressive eyes. “I’m not leaving you.”

_Why are you so infuriatingly loyal?_ ”I’m not worth it, Aziraphale. The world needs you more than it needs me.”

Aziraphale breaks. Tears stream down his face. Pulling the demon to him, he buries his face into a sinuous neck. “But I need you! I won’t live in a world where you don’t exist!” His breath warm against the demon’s throat. “You _are_ my world.”

“My brave angel.” Crowley kisses the top of Aziraphale’s head. He pulls the angel close, the demon’s own tears shining as they stream over sharp cheekbones. “My sweet, ridiculous, brave angel. I never should have approached you on that wall. Never should’ve dragged you down with me.”

They sink to their knees on the floor. Crowley releases his wings, wrapping them around himself and the angel. _If I can shield him from the fire until the holy water puts it out, he may still have a chance._

Crowley can feel the heat in the room as the hellfire burns through the door. He pulls Aziraphale closer. The angel continues to clasp the front of Crowley’s shirt, sobbing softly. “I love you dearest.”

“I love you too, Aziraphale. Remember that. What I feel for you will never die.” Crowley chokes on the words, glancing down to ensure the angel is completely covered.

If Crowley could’ve chosen what his last moments would be like, it would be this. Aziraphale in his arms, the angel’s scent and aura surrounding him. The demon is truly thankful to God for granting him this kindness. He begins to pray for the first time since before the Apocalypse. _Let Aziraphale live. Keep him safe. He’s good and brilliant and doesn’t deserve destruction._

The sounds from the television die as it melts under the extreme heat. The wood around them crackles, as the room in which they have shared so many nights alights in fire.

Crowley clings to his best friend, desperately needing to save him one last time. But then the floor buckles beneath them, and the demon remembers they’re on the second floor. If the structure crumbles, they’ll both drop directly into the flames.

In the next moment, that’s exactly what happens. The floor and ceiling give way at the same time. Crowley looks up to see open sky above him as they fall. He shoves his face into Aziraphale’s hair, encircling the angel the best he can.

Then, there is nothing but a void of gray. Bright enough to see Aziraphale raise his head to look Crowley in the eyes, yet dark enough to not be sterile and blinding.

“Are we dead?” Aziraphale’s bright eyes shift across Crowley’s face, as if searching for the answer.

Crowley puts his wings behind himself, inspecting Aziraphale’s form. He touches his hands over the angel’s face, hair and body.

_He’s whole. No injuries, no pain. Thank you, thank you!_

The demon sobs a tearful laugh. “If we are, we’re still together.”

“You are not dead.” A voice surrounds them. Not a single voice, but thousands, speaking in unison. “You are in the between.”

“In between?” Aziraphale’s grip on Crowley tightens. “So we’re dying?”

_He could be torn from me yet._

“Not between life and death.” God’s voices are calming, not chaotic. They blend together like water through a stream. “Between planes of existence.

“So you pulled us away?” Crowley stands trying to steady his own voice despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “To save us, or have a chat before we die?”

“I assure you, you will not die.” The voices are now laced with the sounds of laughter. Not raucous or rough, but of joy amongst friends. “You’re both too important to flicker out. As I intended you to be.”

“So it’s not just blind luck!” Aziraphale exclaims, rising to stand beside his demon. “You’ve been supporting us this entire time.”

“Yes.” God’s sigh echoing the wind. “I would normally not wish to intervene directly. I would not have had to, if Anathema had not burned the second book.”

“You see.” God continues. “We are the original creators but we gave the gift to humans as well. Therefore what they write, draw, perform or manifest from within their minds becomes a form of reality.”

“Does this mean, we’re not real?” Crowley’s voice wavers, he feels like he’s falling. Aziraphale steadies him with an arm around his waist.

“No, my sweet, sweet Crowley.” The demon grimaces, and God’s tones are gentle as love pours from all around. “You are very real. As real as me, as real as any of them.

“Them?” Aziraphale stares up into the endless gray.

“I forget, you do not know as I know.” The voices ring all around them. “Did you not wonder how two humans knew your story? To write and tell it, with inaccuracies of course, but near enough it could not be coincidence?”

“I did.” Aziraphale feels a chill and blushes, realizing he is standing before God less clothed than he’d wish to be.

“I whispered it to them. Some after the facts, some before.”

Crowley trembles and Aziraphale knows this must be terrifying for him. Placing his lips to the demon’s tattoo. “I have you dearest.”

Crowley turns to him amazed, that his Angel would show him, a demon, such affection before the eyes of God.

“As all great mythologies and tales are created by me, and then whispered to mankind. All are real, all are valid. I whispered your story to the younger man first, and his dear friend second. The power of what you’ve done, together and for one another, contains the sort of influence that changes lives.“

“But that means there is no free will.” Crowley contests. “If you’ve created all the players and all the stories, you’re just moving all of us like puppets.“

“Ah, no it does not.” The echo of laughter returning to the undercurrent of God’s voices. “Your universe is not the only one to exist. There are thousands based upon each and every decision the two of you and everyone else have made. So in versions where decisions were made differently, circumstances are different.”

“Many have already been written, many are still waiting to be written. In a few universes, you never fall in romantic love, but are the others dearest companion. In some, you have been in a secret affair for centuries, only to be open with your love after the apocalypse. In most you pine for days, weeks, years after Armageddon. In others you have become human and grow old together, and some you live until the end of days.”

“There are worlds where you are born human, circling each around the other. Always drawn together, meant to be. We’ve witnessed you as painters, singers, writers, tattoo artists, professors, baristas, college students, working class folk, and so much more.“

“You have been many nationalities, races, sexualities and genders. You have fallen in love surrounded by major world events. Your memories have been swiped, but you find your way back to each other, reminding the other of what you have. And in some worlds one of you loses the other and the remaining grieves the loss.”

Neither Aziraphale or Crowley like the sound of the last one. The idea of a world without the other is too painful to contemplate.

”No matter the universe, the two of you represent love. A love that is loyal and steadfast. A love that they need. A love that has brought them all together.”

“In _this_ universe, do we survive?” Crowley questions timidly.

“Today you will.” The feeling of God’s love intensifies. “Soon I shall send you back. The fire is burnt out and the rain has stopped and dried away. To Heaven and Hell it will appear that you truly are immune to hellfire and holy water, when they witness you rise together, triumphant from the ashes.”

“But my home? My books?” Aziraphale’s lower lip wobbles.

“Material things can be remade, Aziraphale.” God’s voices grow fainter. “In most universes you do not live where the book or media outlets of your life exist. Look to the one to whom I first whispered your deeds. After that, look to the others, the artists, writers and readers of all your lives. There you will find your answer.”

* * *

**Brighton, South Downs, Late May, 2020**

Crowley parks his Bentley along the curb on Hampstead. Satan, how he’s missed the clay red wooden shop. Above the door, a sign reading **A.Z. Fell & Co.**

The insanity of the past year behind them. Issues had arisen, unrelated to last May, causing them to spend quite the stint traveling the States. Staying in several hotels over the course of time there, Aziraphale had formed an obsession with pornography, and not in the way Crowley would’ve liked. Rather than indulging in crazed sex marathons from things learned, the angel had written a journal. Not that they hadn’t partook in some of what he’d written down, but for the most part he wouldn’t even let Crowley see it.

They also spent time reading fan works, and studying interviews by Mr. Gaiman. When it came to a place to call home, the South Downs was the most highly referenced.

In late March, a cottage was purchased on Devil’s Dyke Road, a six minute drive from where they’d found an almost perfect replica of Aziraphale’s bookshop. When the angel had placed his hand on the knob, the door swung open effortlessly.

Inside we’re his books. _All_ his books, exactly as he had left them that day last May. Walking hand in hand to the back room, there sat the tattered sofa, writing desk, and wingback reading chair.

Up the stairway is storage and more books. The flat is gone, which is fine. Aziraphale is certain that after having watched the place burn twice, Crowley might have a few qualms about sleeping here.

“We should celebrate.” Crowley had told him. “I’ll drive to London early in the morning to get my plants. While there, I’ll stop by Taro, get a variety of your favorites, before popping by that little place in Kingly Court for blueberry cheesecake cupcakes.”

Aziraphale had delightedly agreed, choosing to have Crowley drop him at his new/old shop before heading out. Neither of them realizing it would mean nearly two months apart. Thank Someone the bookshop still has a kitchenette and Crowley hadn’t yet sold his flat.

Now, two months later the demon is finally going to reunite with the being he calls home.

“Angel!” Crowley calls out and immediately recognizes the sound of brogues on a hard wood floor.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale rounds the bookshelves, hurriedly embracing the demon. “I’ve missed you darling!” With a smirk. “Are you upset your nap was cut short.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Crowley releases the angel and removes his glasses, tucking them away in his jacket pocket and leads them both to the back room. “You know I’d much rather see you. Oh.” The demon snaps his fingers, and a tray of sushi appears on the coffee table. “Forgot that in the car.” Flopping across the sofa. “Didn’t pick up the pastries though. From what I hear you’ve got that handled.” He gives the angel a devilish wink.

“What is it like out there?” Aziraphale fusses with his waistcoat. “Your being outside didn’t cause them any harm?”

“Nah, Angel.” Crowley rubs his hands over his eyes. “They’re all out and about to work and the such again.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Didn’t go inside Taro, the chef had an urge to make the food. When it was finished, payment was in the till and sushi was in my passenger seat.”

“So, you didn’t stop anywhere?” Aziraphale steps to his writing desk to retrieve the smartphone Crowley had purchased him in America.

“Nope. Drove directly here.”

“Did you see the video?” Aziraphale stands over Crowley, gesturing for the demon to make room, so that he might sit down.

“What video?” Crowley does as he’s bid.

“The one posted to social media two days after the phone call in which you said you were going to sleep until July.” He motions for Crowley to move closer.

“No. I literally just woke up when you rang last night to say they were lifting restrictions.” Noticing the smirk on Aziraphale’s face.

”No.” Crowley draws out the word with an amused smile.

“Yes, dear, every word of our conversation.” Aziraphale laughs. “I watched it every time I started to miss you. So quite a few times a day.”

“I’ll be damned.” The demon smiles excitedly cuddling against his angel’s shoulder. “Well start it up. I have to see this.”


End file.
